


No Longer Cold

by icarusforgotten



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types, spideypool - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Smut, i always come up with the best titles i know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 13:03:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1511549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icarusforgotten/pseuds/icarusforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's quiet as Peter slips in through the window, muscles aching from his prolonged patrol</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Longer Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lafaiette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lafaiette/gifts).



It’s quiet as Peter slips in through the window, muscles aching from his prolonged patrol. He removes his mask, taking in the stench of old sweat and dried blood.

It tightens the muscles in his stomach, in a pleasant way that promises a long night of warmth and rough caresses, sweetened with the heat of a trailing tongue on cool flesh.

He closes the window, seeing his breath slowly disappearing as the room is brought back away from the frigid cold. Spandex is roughly pulled off shivering skin, and the floor feels like ice beneath his sore feet. His teeth begin to chatter, and he can’t stop the low whine that escapes his throat, pushing past lips chapped so rough they crack with the smile that manages to barely stretch across his face at the sight before him.

Mouth open wide, with drool plastered across his chin and dripping along his cheek, sleeps Wade, the blankets bundled close towards his chest. One arm lays outstretched towards Peter’s end of the bed, fingers curled, twitching gently as he mumbles something Peter can’t quite comprehend.

But it sounds a lot like ‘come back’.

So he goes over, the heat of Wade’s body luring him without a second’s thought. The covers are pushed aside, and he can’t help the small laugh that escapes him as Wade shivers and recoils away. But then the blankets are tucked around them both and the sheer possessiveness of how Wade holds Peter to himself is enough to warm him to the core.

He closes his eyes and feels Wade’s breath ghosting across his face. Fingers, still cold from his return of the winter’s night, trace along his cheek, his jaw, outlining every fault, every rough patch of skin, the friction delightful against his touch. The breath across his face increases, and Peter is without warning rolled over, pressed beneath the heavy weight of Wade’s warmth.

'I thought you were asleep.” Teasing lips grin against Wade's skin as his shoulder flinches away from the cold.

"Yeah, well, some asshole woke me up," he said, voice sleepy and gruff, but the fondness in his tone cannot be mistaken, so Peter pulls Wade closer, shoving his cold hands in the pits of Wade’s arms and laughs as he yelps. He could feel a shiver running through Wade’s body before he settles his head by Peter’s neck.  

"You shouldn’t have stayed out so long," comes his reply, reaching back to throw another blanket over them.

"Not like I had much of a choic -"

And with a hitch in breath, Peter’s retort is silenced as he feels a hot tongue sliding down along his neck, warm lips sucking at his collar bone.

 ”I missed you,” comes Wade’s garbled voice, and there is an urgency with the way he kisses Peter, mouth sloppy and hurried. A slow heat begins to rise throughout him, pooling deep in his loins and spreading outward, stretching out a burning trail all along his spine and down to his fingertips and his toes.

He reaches over and pulls Wade’s face upwards - his eyes are feverish, almost glowing in the darkness of the room.

They are kissing like first time lovers, tentative and expecting more, but faltering with each move, holding back as lips are nipped and tongues sucked, hesitant and firm in their exploration.

Until it becomes too much and the need with which Peter can feel Wade’s desire burning overtakes all sense of reason.

Peter pulls away, lungs heaving as his throat is roughly kissed, hand trailing along the inside of his thighs, careful and demanding.

The window is fogged over, and a gentle haze of first snow can be made out if Peter squints hard enough.

He’s brought back to Wade’s attention as he moans at the feeling of teeth skimming down his torso, coming to nip at the inside of his thighs, teasing their way down unbearably slow before he can’t do anything but arch into the feeling of Wade’s tongue sweeping across the tip of his erection.

It’s painful and exhilarating and he he’s lost far too deep in a pleasure that has been made unfamiliar from prolonged absence to be ashamed of the way he cries out Wade’s name with wanton need.

 He’s just barely aware of fingers stretching him and before he could let out another sound, before he could adjust himself to make the task easier for Wade, he’s being filled slowly and completely, taken over with the rush of a stinging haze.

And then movement, and a silence far more painful than this reunion, as piercing eyes tense with fear and longing, and calloused fingers skim across his cheek in unsure strokes, so tender it stops his breathing.

And it’s ironic how in this moment, of rushing blood and creaking springs, of ragged breathing and beating heart, so forceful it threatens to collapse Peter’s head inward - it’s ironic that Wade stares at him like he’s a miracle, stares with quiet reverence, mouth agape and breath stinking of left-over tacos and stale bread, no words, no sounds. Just silence.

And this silence is the loudest he’s ever been, Peter thinks, as he shuts his eyes and listen to his breath hitch when he comes deep within Peter.

But Peter can’t return all this noiselessness, and screams out Wade’s name, clutching his shoulders as he comes against him, tripping over the guttural sounds from his throat like he is being strangled.

The room soon falls into silence as Wade pulls out, collapsing down next to him.

Peter turns his head, and his lids are heavy with calming release, so he can’t be sure that the fog gathered on the window has begun to drip from their accumulated warmth.

All he knows is that he’s no longer cold.


End file.
